


Fires of Torment

by Feriku



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Revenge, Some Humor, Trials, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feriku/pseuds/Feriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major spoilers for the ending of Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney!</p><p> </p><p>Although the trials are over, many of the former witches still don't trust Inquisitor Barnham. Stricken by guilt for his actions against them, he tries to find a way to truly understand what it was like to undergo a witch trial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fear

Zacharias Barnham pummeled the lump of dough on the counter. He was getting to enjoy being a baker, and he was rather good at it, even if Miss Espella inexplicably burst into giggles every time she saw him making something.

In fact, even once he got his present for Lady Darkl—Miss Eve, it might be worth staying on at the bakery, if Ms. Eclaire would have him, of course.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Patty Eclaire walked down the steps and froze. “ _What_ are you doing?”

He positioned the dough on the counter, leaned back, and swung his fist down into it. “‘Tis called kneading!”

She hurried over and stepped in between him and the counter before he could continue. Her normal cheerful expression was replaced by a glare. “How many times do I have to tell you to _respect_ the bread?”

He drew his sword and held it in front of him. “My respect for the bread is at the core of my work. I treat it as I would any worthy opponent.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you making that up?”

“Upon my honor, ‘tis the truth, milady.”

She sighed, but stepped out of the way. As he sheathed his sword and resumed respectful combat with the dough, she said, “I have errands to run in town, and Espella won’t be back until evening. Will you be able to mind the bakery by yourself for a few hours?”

All alone, in charge of the bakery? He clapped his fist over his heart in a salute. “I shall perform my duties with integrity and valor.”

“Good.” She crossed the room and showed him a small box. “Now, we have one advance order. Laura should stop by to pick up her cookies in about an hour, but she already paid for them, so you don’t need to worry about anything, all right?”

He held up his hand. “Laura? I do not believe we are acquainted.”

Ms. Eclaire smiled. “She’ll be the one who comes in and asks for her order of cookies.”

“Err, I see.” He cleared his throat. “I supposed ‘twould be absurd for someone to pretend to be her in order to steal cookies.”

She laughed. “You’ll be fine, Zacharias. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

As she left, he frowned. She was probably right, but still . . . ‘twas a knight’s duty to know the people he protected, and he believed himself knowledgeable of everyone in Labyrinthia. If the hypnosis and brainwashing were indeed at an end—his skin crawled at the thought that his mind was not truly his own over the past ten years—surely he knew this Laura.

He shrugged and beat the dough. No sense in worrying about it until she arrived.

#

There was a definite satisfaction to this sort of work. Barnham opened the oven, waved away the cloud of smoke that emerged, and pulled out his loaf of bread.

When Ms. Eclaire and Espella baked loaves, they weren’t black. Nevertheless, it was the taste of the bread that counted, rather than its appearance. He retrieved a knife so he could sample a slice, just to be sure. After he sawed at it for a while, he shook his head at the inferiority of such dull blades, drew his sword, and made short work of it.

He took a bite and coughed. Bitter enough to be more ash than bread.

Well, one did not learn to wield a sword without practice, and it seemed the same was true of baking. He grabbed a bowl to make more dough.

The door opened. A customer!

Two women entered, both interested in buying bread. They seemed quite amused when he welcomed them, and a bit shocked when he drew his sword to express his deepest honor at serving them—perhaps that part was a bit much, dealing with customers required a different sort of charm than he was used to—but all in all, the exchange went well.

He improved his technique over the next few visits, until he had it down almost as well as kneading the dough. The current batch of dough was almost ready to become bread. He would take care to not leave it bake for too long, this time.

Another customer opened the bakery door.

“Welcome!” He slammed his fist down and raised a cloud of flour.

“Ms. Eclaire, I’m here for my—”

When the flour cleared, he stepped out from behind the counter and bowed to the light-haired woman in front of him, who appeared speechless. “How may I be of service?” he asked.

Her eyes were huge. Perhaps he’d gone overboard with the _welcome_. “I’m, um, i-is Ms. Eclaire here?”

“Not presently.”

“O-oh, okay . . .” She took a step back with each word, until she had covered the entire distance to the door. “I, um, had an order to pick up from her, but if she isn’t here right now, I can just come back later, no problem!”

An order to pick up . . .

“Miss Laura!”

She froze, her hand on the doorknob.

He retrieved the box of cookies Ms. Eclaire has mentioned. “Never fear, I have your order ready for you.” He opened it to make sure it was correct, and marched toward her with the box in his hands.

She let out a squeak. “N-no, that’s all right, really!”

He reached her as she opened the door, and just as she fled, recognition struck him. She was a witch.

Well, not a witch. There were no witches, ‘twas difficult to remember that. Her trial had been years earlier. She must have been amongst the Shades for a very long time. He stood at the door and stared after her, but he didn’t see the busy Labyrinthian street or Miss Laura retreating in fear.

Instead, he saw the courtroom, and the worthless defender tasked with defending a woman who was obviously a witch. He remembered how the terror on her face mounted as the trial progressed, and how she collapsed partway through the proceedings. They revived her in time for the verdict: _guilty_.

He remembered the heat of the flames. Her cries and pleas and promises to never use magic again if they would just give her another chance. Her final scream as the cage slammed shut around her.

His own satisfaction as it plunged into the fire.

He staggered backward and let the bakery door swing shut. The witch trials were over. It wasn’t his fault. The Story demanded witches be burned. Everyone believed it was the right thing to do.

_Not everyone._

He set the box of cookies back down and imagined what he would have to say to Ms. Eclaire when she returned. _“Yes, Miss Laura came by . . . ‘tis a pity she remembers me as the man who sent her to her death.”_

He shook his head. He should have expected it. A Labyrinthian he did not remember—who else could it have been but a longtime Shade? Many of the former witches kept their distance from him, and gave him wary looks when an encounter was unavoidable.

But it was over. There was no cause for her to run from him like that. It wasn’t as if he was about to accost her in the middle of the bakery and kill her for being a witch.

Was that what she believed? He felt sick. Was that what she _saw_ when she looked at him, a killer? Someone who would take her life without a second thought?

Was it true?

He slammed his fist into the counter. Of course it wasn’t true. He protected people, helped them. The Story may have led him to harm the supposed witches, but it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have fought it, not really. It was just the natural order of things.

 _You mean you never wondered? It never occurred to you that killing people for something they couldn’t help, sending them to be_ burned alive _as they begged for mercy, might be wrong?_

No amount of the Storyteller’s hypnosis could justify that.

He gritted his teeth. He’d questioned it, he HAD, near the end. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed. They all believed it. Almost everyone. There were those who defended the witches and even harbored them, but surely most people believed it was right.

Barnham put his head in his hands.

Maybe he needed to step down from the knighthood for good, despite their many assurances that the people wanted him keeping peace in Labyrinthia. As a baker, he couldn’t harm anyone.

His gaze fell upon his ruined loaf from earlier.

Nor, it seemed, could he keep from burning things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (except for the ending), and Inquisitor Barnham was one of my favorite things about it, so prepare for more fanfiction! :)
> 
> Also, be sure to check out the great cover art my friend Stein999 on deviantart drew for this story!


	2. To Understand

No trials were in session. The courthouse was empty. Barnham stepped into the courtroom and walked over to his old place at the Inquisition’s bench.

Constantine barked and danced around his feet before hopping up to sit on the bench and stare at him. It brought a smile to his face despite his misery, and perhaps that was the dog’s intention. The little knight had remained by his side from the moment he left the bakery, as if aware he needed reassurance.

“You can forgive me for all my past crimes, can’t you?” he asked Constantine, who barked and attacked his gauntleted hand.

They play-wrestled for a moment, but then he pried himself free of his companion’s clutches and turned his stare to the iron cage which once held witches during their trials.

It still hung from the ceiling. One of many things that had to be changed, with Labyrinthia’s shadows lifted. But until then, it remained as a grim testament to what their Story led them to do. Though it was empty, he could see Laura in it—and Espella, and Kira, and Maya, and all the others who took their places as defendants over the years.

_Do you even know how it feels to be put in this cage?_

He jumped at the remembered accusation and looked around, but he was still alone save for Constantine.

No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t. He was an Inquisitor, not a witch. At the time, there was no point in questioning it. It didn’t matter what a witch felt. But he’d barely even concerned himself with the feelings of the accused, not yet proven as witches, until the strangers came to Labyrinthia and filled his mind with doubts.

He left the bench and approached the cage. He could climb inside and try to understand. Claustrophobia was not something he suffered, though and he would not be able to do anything but sit inside the unmoving cage. If he could but get someone to help him, and lower the cage into the flames, perhaps he could at last understand what he’d put those women through.

Who would help him?

Constantine barked and ran over. He looked at the mechanism that controlled the cage and growled.

Barnham knelt beside him. “I see even you have learned distaste for this. ‘Tis a pity you’re too small to operate it, my friend.”

Before, in such a matter of importance, he would have considered it imperative to go to his superior. Lady Darklaw—Miss Eve—however, would merely order him to man up and join the efforts to integrate the Shades back into Labyrinthian society, if he was so disturbed by his past actions. He’d tried to help before, but when the former witches fixed him with those haunted stares, he couldn’t remain even to aid them.

Ms. Eclaire would be horrified that he suffered from such guilt, and would undoubtedly encourage him to eat fresh bread straight from the oven.

The Storyteller was, in a way, his superior above either of them, but Mr. Cantabella seemed content to leave the past a memory. He would tell Barnham that since no one actually died, there was no reason to even think of it any longer.

Miss Espella was out of the question, as she would tell him it wasn’t his fault and that everyone would forgive him in time. More to the point, she was too kind-hearted to even pretend to consign someone to the fires. Likewise, none of the knights in his command would lift a finger to harm him in any way, at his request or not.

If only Sir Blue Knight were still in Labyrinthia—not that he would do it, but ‘twould take only minor coaxing to convince Maya Fey to pull levers and play with machinery, and perhaps she would also enjoy sending him into the flames as she herself had gone.

A witch was the obvious solution, but many of them were so spooked they would flee any conversation with him, let alone an extended interaction. Still, there had to be someone who wouldn’t react in such a manner.

He snapped his fingers. Greyerl.

Miss Jean Greyerl would see the logical workings behind his desire to understand and aid him in his task.

He marched to the courtroom doors with Constantine by his side. “I _shall_ understand my actions.”

#

Voices reached him as he neared the alchemist’s residence, and he slowed down. It sounded as though Miss Greyerl was having some sort of lesson about the science of the outside world. He paused. His request would take little of her time, and yet . . .

He remembered the look on the young woman’s face as he insisted she be executed for the crime of being a witch though she’d not succeeded in her murder attempt—an attempt made only because she was terrified of being betrayed. Barnham shook his head. He’d taken too much from her already. Let her find happiness in her studies, undisturbed by the Inquisition.

He returned to the city streets. He’d sent Constantine back to the bakery, in case he did not understand what would later happen in the courtroom, but it seemed it was a failed venture overall.

Perhaps he could find another witch who was not afraid of him, yet not overflowing with forgiveness, either. Someone who deemed it important that he understand.

Lost in his thoughts, he collided with a young woman and sent her tumbling to the ground.

“My apologies.” He held out his hand to help her up.

Kira ignored his outstretched hand, got to her feet, and dusted herself off before she picked up her fallen basket of flowers. “Excuse me,” she said, with a sweet smile that screamed, _I hate you._

Barnham blinked as she continued past him. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of her before? He chased her. “Miss Kira!”

She stopped and plucked all of the petals from one of her flowers. “If you don’t mind, I really need to sell these, or my boss will be angry with me.”

“I require your assistance.”

She put her hand over her heart. “Why, however could a horrible little witch like me help the great Inquisitor Zacharias Barnham?”

Perfect. Open hostility and defiance—she was exactly the sort of person he needed. “I—”

Mr. Cantabella’s voice interrupted him. “Now, now, Miss Kira, that time is long past.” The older man walked over to them and shook his head. “We’re all friends now.”

Kira gave him an even sweeter smile and shredded the flower in her hands.

“’Tis of no concern,” Barnham said. “She meant no harm by it.”

The Storyteller lifted his eyebrows, no doubt because Kira snorted and let out a small laugh at his statement, but shrugged. “Well, I’m pleased to see you’ve put your differences behind you.”

She laughed again.

“We have,” Barnham said, “Thank you for your concern, sir.”

As soon as the Storyteller was on his way, Kira said, “You’re battier than he is.”

He folded his hands in front of him. “’Twas the easiest way to get rid of him. As I said, I require your assistance with a matter of great importance.”

She destroyed another flower. “Inquisitor, unless it involves sending you screaming into a pit of fire, I want nothing to do with you.” She smiled and continued down the street.

He raced after her. “As a matter of fact . . .”

#

“For the last time, how could this possibly be a trick?”

Kira folded her arms. “If someone comes in here and finds me lowering you into the fire, what are they going to think?”

He looked around the courtroom, which no one was likely to visit anyway, and then stepped close enough to force her to look up in order to meet his gaze. “Even the daftest of witnesses would find it difficult to insist you overpowered me.” He closed his eyes. “And I swear to you upon my honor as a knight, I shall not lie about our activities here.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then satisfaction glinted in her gaze. “You really want to know what it’s like?”

“If I could visit the past and erase my actions, I would. Without that as an option, my only hope is to achieve understanding.”

“All right.” She smiled and set her flowers down on the witness stand. “You can’t have the full experience if you aren’t forced in by knights, but we’ll work with what we have. Shut yourself in the cage, and I’ll go start the fires.”

“Very well.”

He wheeled over the stairs that led up to the cage, a difficult task to do on his own, but within his strength. Even in an empty room, it felt strange to climb those steps, stranger still to open the cage and step inside. He shook his head. Kira had nothing to fear. If anyone stumbled upon this scene, they would believe the poor Inquisitor had gone mad.

He stepped inside and closed the door.

Flames roared to life in the pit below, and he jumped in spite of himself. He would never admit to anyone the shakiness in his legs or the queasy feeling in his stomach.

Kira returned a moment later and smirked. “I like seeing you up there for a change.”

“’Tis . . . unsettling.”

“Unsettling?” She offered him another murderous smile. “What a _pleasant_ way to put it. It was a lot more than _unsettling_ for me, I assure you.”

Part of his mind shouted he understood enough and it was time to open the cage and get out, but he silenced it. He was no coward. He would face his actions and their reality with the courage befitting a knight. “I suppose it was. You believed you were going to die. Without that fear, I suppose I cannot truly understand.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she strained to push the stairs away with little luck. He let out a small sigh of relief. Contemptible though his fear was, ‘twas a comfort to know he could force open the door and climb back down if he had to.

Kira walked over to the lever that controlled the cage. He closed his eyes and braced himself. The descent, the heat, the loss of control—these were all things he’d subjected countless innocents to.

The cage lurched _up._

He opened his eyes and looked over the empty courtroom, and the stairs he couldn’t safely reach even if he lost his nerve.

Kira grinned. “Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Zacharias Barnham.”


	3. Witch Trial

“Is the Inquisition ready?” Kira walked behind the Inquisitors’ bench and slammed her fist upon it. “I, Inquisitor Kira, have my case well in hand, milord. It shall not take long at all.”

Barnham stared down at her. “What are you doing?”

She smiled. “You wanted to know what it feels like to be condemned as a witch. Well, I’m going to show you.”

“You appear to be going a bit overboard.”

“ _Silence_ , accused, unless you wish to be cast into the flames this instant!” She left the bench behind. “Is the defender ready?” She walked to the other side of the room and adopted a meek expression. “I am ready, milord.” She returned to the Inquisitors’ bench and laughed. “It appears even Sir Flower Girl understands the severity of the accused’s situation. Lower thy sword now, and I shall make the end merciful.”

Barnham closed his eyes. This was more surreal than he’d ever imagined. It couldn’t get any weirder.

“Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira!”

Oh yes it could.

He opened his eyes and stared at Kira, who ceased her imitation of the gallery and returned to her spot as Inquisitor.

She cleared her throat. “Allow me to review the case. Mr. Zacharias Barnham stands accused of being an insufferable psychopath who persecuted and murdered uncountable victims for merely possessing the ability to use magic. As Inquisitor, ‘tis my duty to clarify that while some of these victims _were_ guilty of crimes, they were executed in a manner most cruel and terrifying. Others were innocent of all charges and suffered the same fate. There is no room for doubt, milord—this man is guilty and must be put to the flames!”

“Objection!”

“The accused may not object. ‘Tis up to his defender to present what pathetic defense he has.”

Barnham glared at her. She was enjoying this a little _too_ much. He shifted from foot to foot. Was her description truly the way she and the others viewed him? If so, he would much rather discuss it with her on solid ground—but even permission to speak from the cage would be preferable to silence.

“You’ve made some serious accusations,” she said, in her role as the judge. “Do you have any proof to back up these statements, Inquisitor Kira?

“Yes, milord, I do. I have a witness, one of his victims, who will now testify. I call Miss Kira to the stand!

“Objection!”

She was actually objecting to her own statement? He hadn’t expected her to give him a defense at all.

Kira adopted the rather pathetic pose she used for the defender and said, “There is a huge contradiction in what the Inquisitor just said, milord. She claims this witness is one of my client’s victims, and yet he is accused of being a murderer. If no one died, no murder was committed.”

She punched the Inquisitors’ bench. “Objection! While ‘tis true none of these victims died in truth, both the accused and his victims were unaware of this fact at the time. He fully intended to kill them.” She smiled. “But just so the court is satisfied, I will grant him permission to speak in his defense on this one occasion. Mr. Barnham, did you believe the witches you condemned were dead?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You believed they burned alive?”

“Yes.”

“On your orders?”

He lunged to the edge of the cage and tried to draw his sword, although there wasn’t enough room. “Kira! You _know_ that’s what I believed. That’s why we’re here! Must you continue this farce just to torment me?”

She smiled. “I rest my case, milord. Let the witness take the stand.”

The cage confined him too much. He wanted to be on the ground again, with open space around him. He’d believed it would be easier for him, as he was not truly on trial . . . but she’d turned it into one. To think about his actions in the privacy of his own mind was painful enough, but to hear someone else say them cemented their truth.

_. . . an insufferable psychopath who persecuted and murdered uncountable victims. . ._

He shuddered.

Kira took the witness stand and picked up her basket of flowers. “My name is Kira. I sell flowers in the marketplace. I lived such a happy life, yet I was always filled with fear. You see, I was a witch. From the time I was a child, I knew I had to keep it a secret. If anyone ever found out, I would be dragged into court and burned. You can’t know what it’s like, to live with constant fear. It changes you! It turns life into an unending nightmare, because you’re always terrified you might slip up and reveal your secret.”

It shouldn’t have been that way. Barnham took a deep breath to steady himself. According to the Story, all witches were evil, monsters bent on the destruction of the town. They weren’t supposed to be scared girls who just wanted to live like everyone else.

Kira twirled a flower between her fingers. “I tried to stop it. I thought I could end the witch trials and save us all from that fear. I was wrong.” She dropped the flower and lowered her gaze. “They revealed my secret in this very courtroom. As they dragged me to the cage, I begged them to stop. Mr. Barnham showed no sign of regret or compassion. He sent me screaming into the fire.”

“Kira—”

“The accused forfeited his right to speak with his earlier outburst!”

It mattered not. He didn’t know what he would have said, anyway. An apology was not enough. He could do nothing to refute her claims. The only thing he could say in his defense was that he thought he was doing the right thing to protect Labyrinthia.

Kira left the witness stand. “Sir Flower Girl, would you like to begin the cross-examination?” She drooped. “Milord, the defense sees nothing wrong with this testimony. However, there were certain mitigating circumstances that have yet to be brought up. When Mr. Barnham did these things, he was under the influence of a potent hypnosis drug, which led him to believe all witches were evil and that death by burning was their required fate. All Labyrinthians, except for the witches themselves, believed the same thing.”

How much was the Story and how much was him? More importantly, why had he decided to let Kira do this to him? Rather than absolve his guilt, it made him feel worse.

“Objection!” She shook her head. “Poor Sir Flower Girl, how naïve you are. Miss Espella Cantabella was not a witch, and yet she tried on numerous occasions to give her own life to prevent their fates. Ms. Patty Eclaire was not a witch, and yet she remained on Miss Cantabella’s side at all times. Though they were strangers, Sir Blue Knight, Sir Top Hat, and their assistants were all under the influence of the same drug at the time they opposed the witch trials.” She slammed her hand down. “The accused was capable of thinking for himself, yet he persisted in his twisted reasoning.”

He wanted to be away from there, anywhere but in that courtroom, but most of all, he wanted to be in the bakery, where he could make bread and pretend the witch trials never happened.

“Objection! Despite your depiction of him as a heartless man who burned all witches without a second thought, he did not oppose the altered sentence for Miss Jean Greyerl—” She cut herself off mid-sentence. “Objection! ‘Twas a decision made by the judge. Mr. Barnham had no authority to object to it. If the defense wishes to pursue this argument, I shall summon witnesses who were present when Mr. Barnham demanded Miss Greyerl be sent to the flames.”

“Enough,” he said. “You’ve proven your point.”

She ignored him. “Objection! Correct though that may be, Inquisitor Kira, I have witness testimony that says he aided the escape of Miss Espella Cantabella and her accomplices after she was accused of being the Great Witch Bezella. He then dedicated to himself to the pursuit of _truth._ ”

“’Tis true! I’ve since realized how mistaken my actions were!”

“Objection!” She smiled up at him and wagged her finger. “Too little, too late.”

He couldn’t hold her gaze for long before he had to look away. If they all viewed him as she did, no wonder the woman fled from him in the bakery. But he never intended that. He wanted to protect Labyrinthia, not be viewed as a monster by some of its citizens.

_I’ll leave. I’ll go far away, to a place where neither my actions nor the memories I cause can hurt anyone._ Though running would only allow him to escape the city and the frightened stares of the one-time witches. His guilt would run with him and the memories would remain.

“I am ready to announce my verdict.” Kira closed her eyes. “Mr. Zacharias Barnham is found _guilty_ of all the charges made against him. For the persecution he showed the witches of Labyrinthia, and the hideous murders he intended to commit, he shall be cast into the flames. Bailiff!”

As she walked to the lever, he once again braced himself.

She paused. “Noble stoicism? I’m disappointed. I’d hoped to hear you beg me for mercy, so I could withhold it the way you always did.”

“Enough,” he said. “Put an end to this.”

“Oh, I’ll put an _end_ to it, all right.”

Something in her tone unsettled him more than the entire pseudo-trial. “Miss Kira?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh, Inquisitor Barnham, you really aren’t very bright, are you? You know how I feel about you, yet you let me light the fires without a second thought. In fact, you put yourself completely in my power.”

He glanced over the edge of the cage at the fires below. She couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like. The chamber below the fire pit wasn’t visible, but that was part of its point. Still, ‘twould be much preferable if he could see it.

Kira laughed even harder. “I’d understand, if it was someone else—Espella, perhaps, or Maya Fey. But me? I framed Espella for murder. I intended to kill those two criminals and send her to be burned alive, all to put an end to the witch trials.”

His heart pounded. “The witch trials are over!”

She glared at him, her eyes wild. “Do you really think that matters? Even now, you’ve had only a taste of what you put us through! Do you know what I see whenever I fall asleep? I see this courtroom! You send me to the flames every night. We’ll never be free of those memories, Inquisitor Barnham, _never_ , and it’s all because of you!”

He needed to do something, to fight or flee or anything—but his legs were locked in place. He gripped the edge of the cage. “I’m sorry, Kira. Listen to me. I know I was wrong.”

“I don’t _care!_ ” She clutched the lever. “I don’t care that you’re sorry, I don’t care what they’ll do to me—”

He recognized that edge to her shouts. It was the same tone as when she’d screamed that Espella was Bezella. Desperation. His chest constricted and his heartbeat roared in his ears. “Kira!”

“—all I care about is that I can finally rid us of _you!_ ” She slammed the lever down.

The cage closed around him, and he tried to force it open. Kira laughed at his attempts. He stared at her laughing face and shouted something, he wasn’t even sure what, and the top of the cage crashed shut.

Darkness. He slammed his hands against the metal. Too small, too close, he had to get out—

Movement. His stomach lurched up as the cage descended.

_. . . an insufferable psychopath who persecuted and murdered uncountable victims. . ._

Every breath was shallow and quick. It couldn’t be real.

. . . _no sign of regret or compassion . . ._

That look of satisfaction just before she went to light the fires, the venom in her voice when she spoke about him—her laughter still rang through the courtroom. He clapped his hands over his ears and gasped for breath. He wanted to understand, he didn’t want to die.

_We’ll never be free of those memories, Inquisitor Barnham, never, and it’s all because of you!_

Any more than the witches had wanted to die.

Lower and lower, hotter and hotter, the darkness and the fire and the guilt—

Zacharias Barnham closed his eyes. Maybe Kira was right.

Maybe this was the only way.


	4. Absolution

Metal screeched upon metal like the screams of the damned.

“You actually passed out?”

Barnham opened his eyes. Kira’s wide-eyed expression appeared torn between amusement and concern. He’d sagged against the back of the cage, and after so long confined, his muscles were stiff.

“I did not”—he straightened with an effort and clenched his teeth to withhold a groan—“pass out.”

His heart still raced, and his hands were clammy beneath his gauntlets. ‘Twould seem his body was not quite ready to accept that imminent death was not mere seconds away. As he stepped out of the cage, all of her accusations hit him with full force again, and he gritted his teeth.

Kira backed up. “You’re the one who said you couldn’t understand if you didn’t believe you were going to die.”

After all that, she was afraid of him?

_Do you know what I see whenever I fall asleep? I see this courtroom! You send me to the flames every night._

Of course she was.

He cleared his throat. “So I did. Thank you, Kira.”

And in the final moments before what he believed was to be his end, he thought perhaps it was the right thing to do.

“I think I understand now,” he said, “at least as well as I ever can.”

“Good.” She glared at him.

He looked away. “I should restore the courtroom to its former state, lest someone find the cage down here and ask unwarranted questions.”

Though she said nothing, she accompanied him to the courtroom. As he walked over to the lever, his gaze landed on the witness stand and the basket there. Of course. Her flowers. He would have returned them to her if she’d forgotten, though she probably wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.

Perhaps she’d have burned them.

He stopped in front of the mechanism and froze with his hand outstretched to grab it. Memories of his own imprisonment intermingled with all his memories of the witches he condemned. He didn’t want to raise the cage. He wanted to tear it out so no one would have to look at it ever again. He hated it.

A smaller hand closed around the lever. “Let me do that,” Kira said. “You can put the steps back wherever they go.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze. “There is no need for you to help me.”

“I said I’ll do it.” More than a little of the tone she’d used for her Inquisitor persona filled her growl. “Go put the steps back.”

He swallowed. “Very well.”

The strain of pushing the stairs distracted him from his guilt, but it was over too soon.

Once the courtroom was in order, he headed for the exit, though his stride was less of the purposeful march it usually was and he faltered as he pushed the doors open. Outside, he stopped and shivered in the cool air. He didn’t want to be there. He’d see them. There were too many of them. Witches, Shades, whatever they were, too many had been accused over the years.

Surely some were never caught. There had to be women who had never stood in that cage, but still feared the possibility. Constant fear, as Kira said. Constant fear of the witch trials—and of the Inquisition. Constant fear of him.

“Are you sure you didn’t pass out?” Kira’s voice made him jump. “Honestly, you look horrible.”

“Do I? That should please you.” He started walking again.

“Inquisitor Barnham!” Her footsteps pounded after him, and she caught his arm. “Don’t go off on some self-loathing martyrdom kick.”

He stopped and frowned at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not an evil man,” she said. “You were a good Inquisitor, for whatever that’s worth. Anyone who _wasn’t_ a witch could expect a fair judgment from you.”

“Just a short time ago, you dubbed me a psychopath.”

“Well, you needed the full ‘you’re going to burn for being a monster’ experience. I played it up a little.”

Barnham looked down at the ground. “Were you telling the truth about the nightmares?”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and when she did, her voice was quiet. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” she said, “walk with me. I spent my afternoon helping you, so the least you can do is let me sell flowers while we talk.”

He nodded, although there really wasn’t anything to talk about. As they left the courthouse behind and rejoined the busy streets of Labyrinthia, several passers-by cast curious gazes in their direction. It must have appeared peculiar, the Inquisitor at the side of the one-time witch. He wondered if the other witches feared for Kira when they saw him with her. His heart ached.

Nothing could help him _really_ understand how they felt.

He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Kira shrugged. “At least you’re trying, which is more than I can say for some people.”

“Like the Storyteller?” he asked.

“Oh yes.” She ripped the petals from a flower in the time it took him to blink. “If he sees us now, he’ll take it as proof we’re past it all, and then he’ll pat himself on the back for doing such a good job.”

“Perhaps you should put him on trial next.”

She laughed. “I’d be too tempted to really kill him.”

“Were you tempted to kill me?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Kira glanced up at him, uncertainty clear in her gaze.

“You were most convincing.” And he was a fool, he shouldn’t have said anything. Coming from him, it must have sounded like an accusation, or a test. “Your hatred seemed quite . . . genuine.”

“I wanted to scare you,” she said after a moment. “I wanted you to really understand what the Inquisition meant to us, but more than that, I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel powerless and afraid and alone, like I did. But when I said I wanted you dead, that was a lie.” The corner of her mouth twisted. “I’ll admit, when I opened up the cage, I was afraid I’d pushed you too far.”

“’Twas what I asked for.”

She rolled her eyes. “Forgive me if I wasn’t completely sure the great Inquisitor would see it that way.”

He stopped with her as she sold a bouquet of flowers to a man who frowned at Barnham but said nothing, and then to a woman who said, “Are you here on official business, Inquisitor?”

“No,” he said, but she took her flowers and left before he could explain anything further. He blinked and stared after her.

“She didn’t really care,” Kira said. “She probably just wanted to make sure you weren’t on a witch hunt. I mean, it would look pretty bad to buy flowers from a known witch while an Inquisitor’s standing right beside her.”

He clenched his fists.

“That angry look isn’t going to help, you know.”

He shook his head, the ache in his heart worse than before. “’Tis apparent nothing will.”

“Great,” she said, while she destroyed one of her flowers, “just give up. I take back all those nice things I said about you before.”

Barnham met her angry stare. “Earlier, you praised me for trying to understand what I have done. Now I understand well enough to see I can neither ask nor expect forgiveness.”

“I _thought_ that by trying to understand, you were also trying to make things better.”

“How?”

“This is a good start.” She waved her hand around to indicate the people they passed. “Just imagine what they must be saying. After all . . . the mighty Inquisitor Zacharias Barnham walking down the street with a witch? Normally you just ignore us, and go about your business as if we aren’t even there.”

“’Tis a difficult burden to bear,” he said. “I cannot look at the people I once harmed, lest I see in their eyes that they remember me.”

“Well, maybe it’s guilt to you, but it comes across as arrogance. It makes it seem like you still view yourself as better than us. Here, smile and wave.”

He blinked, and obeyed. The woman they passed took off in the other direction so fast, he lacked the opportunity to see if he recognized her.

“See?” Kira said. “It’s easy.”

“Miss Kira, running away from me is not exactly a sign of trust and forgiveness.”

“No, but once she calms down, she’ll say, ‘Barnham smiled at me. He waved. He was walking with Kira. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all.’” She frowned. “You actually _smiled_ , right? If you just bared your teeth like that dog of yours does, it’ll be more like, ‘What a psycho!’”

He snorted. “’Twas a genuine smile.”

“Then you’re off to a good start. Keep it up. Start conversations.” She waggled her fingers at him. “Come to the dark side, Inquisitor. Mingle with the witches!”

“I cannot! Even the sight of me must resurrect those memories! How can I speak to them, or even approach them?”

She let out a long groan. “You seem to have no such problem with me. You chased me down in the street today, remember, or did you forget that part?”

“Your hostility was so apparent,” he said.

“Great, I’ll tell everyone I know that the way to make Inquisitor Barnham like you is to glare and shout at him.” She lifted her eyes toward the sky. “In fact, if you pretend you’re going to murder him, he’ll parade around town with you all afternoon.”

“’Tis much easier to handle than fear.”

Without warning, she wheeled around and jabbed her finger against his chest. “All your talk about _understanding_ and _guilt_ means nothing if you don’t face up to your actions! Yes, look into their eyes and see that they’re afraid, and admit it’s your fault! And don’t run away—stay there and deal with it!”

“I . . . will try.”

“And apologize, like you did to me.”

He blinked. “An apology cannot make up for—”

“You’re right, it can’t. But it shows you care.”

He nodded and drew his sword. “I swear upon my honor as a true knight of Labyrinthia to face my actions with the courage and dignity of a warrior, and to do everything in my power to ease the plight of those I have harmed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Allow me to begin at once.” He sheathed his sword. “Is there anything I can do to aid you, Miss Kira?”

She smiled. “Since you prevented me from doing my work most of the afternoon, the least you can do is buy a flower.”

“I shall.” And he would give it to Miss Eve. He frowned. If he gave her a flower, she might believe it . . . meant something. He’d give one to Espella, as well, so it was just as though he bought flowers for the two ladies he saw the most. “In fact, I shall buy two flowers.” Of course, if the flowers were presents for the ladies in his life, Ms. Eclaire might be hurt if she was excluded. “Three! Wait—four! Four flowers.” If he was in the bakery when Miss Laura returned, he would give her the cookies, an apology, and a flower.

Kira raised her eyebrows. “Are you done?”

“Yes.” He paid her and accepted the four flowers.

She shook her head. “I should pretend to murder you more often. It really brings out the best in you.”

“I would prefer otherwise.”

“If you insist.” She laughed. “Good-bye, Mr. Barnham. I hope you have plenty of nightmares tonight.”

“And I hope you do not.” He held up his hand. “Farewell, Miss Kira. Perhaps we shall speak again soon.”

“Right. We’re _not_ friends.” But she said it with, if not a smile, at least less of a scowl than the way she’d looked at him before.

As Barnham walked away and returned to the bakery, his heart felt a little lighter.

Just a little, but it was a start.

 

The End


End file.
